


A Winchester Carol (sort of)

by howl_at_that_moon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howl_at_that_moon/pseuds/howl_at_that_moon
Summary: Dean starts thinking about how everyone's life would be different if he left.  He knew they would be better off, especially Sam.





	A Winchester Carol (sort of)

**Author's Note:**

> Contains Suicidal ideations (just a mention).  
> Written for the spn_J2_xmas over at Livejournal

It was Christmas Eve, and Dean sat in his room at the bunker. Ever since Sam and Castiel brought him back from being a demon, he felt the guilt wrap around his heart, getting worse every day, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. So, he just sat there, on his bed, head in his hands, when he saw the pictures peeking out below the book he had on his bedside. _Another book from trying to get rid of this mark._ Dean lifted it and took the pictures in his hands. It had been awhile since he’d looked at them… far before even getting the mark. He took a deep breath and stared at the one on top.

It was him and Sam from a few years back, standing together, arms wrapped around each other. It was a bit fuzzy, but that’s what you get when you ask Castiel to take a picture, apparently. Dean stared at him and Sam. They looked so content, blurriness aside. Before purgatory, before the trials, before… well, all the things that happened to them, hardening their hearts. _Well, at least my heart_. He put the photo aside, looking at the next one. 

Another blurry one, but that didn’t matter, and Dean’s mouth lifted at the corners into a little smirk. Castiel had become obsessed with the need to take a selfie after he saw some girls on the street taking one. He remembered when Castiel had come to him asking about it, since he found it quite strange. But once he found out what it was, he kept going around trying to get everyone to take one with him. Sam, being as tall as he is, wouldn’t fit in the screen unless Castiel was completely cut out of it, so, defeated, he kept trying with everyone else. For some reason, he hadn’t asked Dean to take one with him, and Dean remembered how relieved he had been. Then, after trying to take one with Crowley (which ended in disaster, of course), Cas came to him and he finally got to take that selfie.

Oddly enough, Crowley himself didn’t mind getting his picture taken as long as an angel in a trench coat wasn’t begging him for a hug to take that elusive selfie. The next picture was of him sitting at the bar, one of his classic fruity drinks in hand. It was taken without his knowledge (or so Dean thought), and so the act that Crowley constantly put on wasn’t there… it was… raw emotion. A few days later, he saw Crowley again and was warned to never try to sneak a picture of him again.

Then came the old pictures. Himself as a toddler being lifted into the air by his Dad. Tears started to build up in the corners of his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away. There were pictures of his parent’s wedding day, of mom standing next to him pregnant with Sam, and a bunch of pictures of baby Sam. The tears that he had wiped away started flowing freely down his cheeks as he looked at the pure innocence that once was. From the moment his brother was born, Dean had been in love, and promised himself that he would never let anything bad happen to him _. I guess I broke that promise_. He threw the pictures onto his bed, trying to forget all his memories. Trying not to cry.

After Sam had left for Stanford, Dean’s heart was broken. He knew his little brother wanted something other than the hunting lifestyle Dean embraced since dad had gotten him his first gun. So, he let him go, kept on hunting, and eventually had to ask for his help _. I wonder what he would be like if I never did that_. 

Dean looked around his room. He saw all the little touches that he put up, trying to make it like a home. It wasn’t a large room, but it was more than he had since he was four. Wiping his hand over his face again, he tried to hold back the anguish he was feeling, and then his eyes settled on the guns and other weapons on his wall. Dean stared at them for quite a while, the turmoil in his head getting even worse. He got up and walked over to the wall, his hand settling on one.

 _I could do it. I don’t need to keep up this charade anymore. And Sammy would be better off. He could leave the hunting lifestyle again… finish school… do what he really wants to do. I know he hates what we do_. Dean’s hands tightened on the gun he had placed his hand on.

 

Crowley heard the blasted alarm before all the red strobe lights started. Of course, he was in the middle of his nightly briefing, and couldn’t hear anything other than the annoying siren coming from his bed chambers. Waving his hand, he dismissed everyone and went to see what the bloody hell was wrong with them this time. Right as he entered the room, his hand slammed onto the off button and he was greeted with blessed silence once again. 

Walking over to the nightstand, he picked up the piece of paper that would explain exactly what was going on. He had no idea who had set this whole thing up, but he would love to have a nice little torture session with them. Reading what was going on, he looked up. “Dearest Heaven, why do you want me to do _your_ job?!” Crowley sighed. This whole restructuring of the system had been annoying him for weeks, and now that it was a Winchester involved, he couldn’t pawn it off on one of his demons. No, he had to deal with this one himself.

Dean’s hands loosened his grip on the gun. He had no idea what to do anymore. He knew he wanted Sam to be happy, and if him leaving would do it, there was no question in his mind what needed to be done. Still crying, Dean walked back over to his bed and sat down. He was so confused. And hurt. He thought about going to see Sam, but he was most likely sleeping, and Dean didn’t know if he could see his brother’s face right now. 

Suddenly he heard a rustling and looked up.  There, in the middle of his room, stood Crowley, wiping off his suit.

Confused, Dean looked at him quizzically. _Why am I having a dream about the Demon who got him into this whole mess?_ “Crowley?”

The King of Hell looked up and straight at Dean, “Hello, squirrel.”

“What are you doing here?” Dean was shocked that he **wasn’t** having a dream. Now he had to deal with whatever the wanker wanted. _At least it’s a break from myself._

Crowley sighed again. “Well, I’m not just paying you a friendly visit, I can tell you that. You’ve interrupted quite an important meeting.”

“Wha –"

“Someone seems to have installed a ‘Winchester in trouble’ alarm in my chambers that I’ve been trying to dismantle for months now.” Dean watched Crowley closely. “Heaven, apparently, decided to change the old guard and left all of the… how do I say… future… visions to hell. They were not, obviously, thinking of the huge uproar that it caused.”

It was very weird to have Crowley in his bedroom, but at this point it was better than having Sam there… or Castiel. “What about the past and present?” _Of course, I would ask about a silly thing like that._

“Dean, you know your past and your present. Besides, the whole debacle would mean that feathers would do anything he had to just to make sure he was the one taking care of that.”

“And you?”

“You are a Winchester. You seem to keep forgetting that. I send one of my demons… it would be a suicide mission. So, I had to do this one myself… I can’t really afford to lose anyone at this time…”

“And how did you know that I wouldn’t kill you?”

“Well, you didn’t. And besides, we’re old pals. There was no doubt that we would start with some chit-chat.”

Sighing, Dean just threw his hands up into the air. “Ok, fine! What wonderful things would you have shown me? Honestly, I’ve got things to do…” Dean looked down quickly, and back up at Crowley. “So?”

When Crowley didn’t answer him, he stared at the demon walking silently around his room. He was taking everything in, especially the wall of weapons, eventually getting to his bed. Dean just placed his head back into his hands. He just wanted Crowley to go away.

“Scrapbooking, are we?”

Dean looked up to Crowley. At the mention of those pictures, the tears started again. _I can’t be believe I’m crying in front of Crowley, of all people._ “You wouldn’t understand…” Dean paused, taking a breath. “You’re not human. You have no heart.”

“I did once. Besides, I can’t just tell you, I must show you. It’s a bit of a… requirement. I’ve already searched for any loopholes and have come up with nothing. Now, if you don’t mind?”

Dean kept staring. Crowley was clearly telling him to come with him, but there was this little pocket of fear in the back of his head that he couldn’t shake loose. _I don’t want to see..._ “You’re going to teleport me somewhere? I don’t like the –”

“I’m different than feathers. I’m actually quite hurt you don’t remember.” 

“I don’t want–”

Dean felt Crowley grab him by the arm. “Put on your Sunday best…”

 

The room was probably painted a shade like “eggshell”, with the walls lined in scriptures. It was fairly modern, chairs instead of pews, and a small stage up at the front of the room. The seats were filled, and some people were going to grab more from another room to make sure everyone had a seat.

Dean took it all in. _Why are we at a church?_ He turned towards Crowley, “Why are we here?”

“Just watch.”

Suddenly, a young man, hair cut into a short, modern-day style walked towards the front of the room. He had a nice, casual suit and tie on. And then he turned around to face the room.

“Sam?” Dean stared at his brother… or what at least looked like his brother. What threw him off the most wasn’t the suit and tie, but the short hair. The long waves were gone, changing the shape of his face to something Dean couldn’t remember seeing for a long time. As he settled on the stage, he gave a warm smile to everyone there. _Still the same smile…_

“Good morning, everyone! Isn’t it great to be in the House of the Lord today?” The people around the room nodded their heads, or clapped, and there were more than a few amens. “I’m glad to see you all here! If you remember, last week we continued our discussion on sins listed prominently in the word, according to the Ten Commandments. We talked about the Sixth last week, thou shall not murder. And we discussed how—”

Dean turned sharply to Crowley. “Why is my brother _Preaching_?  How could—”

“I told you. Just watch.”

“… rage, anger, and others were covered by the word “murder,” and how all sins are a violation of the Ten Commandments. This week is the Seventh Commandment, you shall not commit adultery. As with all of them, adultery is a broad term for sins of the flesh –”

Whipping back around, Dean hissed, “seriously… what is going on?!”

“Have you always followed direction so poorly? I said… watch.”

“… probably the hardest for us Pastors to talk about, especially me, since most of you have heard my story. The Lord blessed me, though, and I am living proof that God can deliver you from anything, as long as you want it. So, when I talk about the sin of homosexuality, I know what it looks like from both sides. All of you, and probably most non-believers, know the scriptures in Leviticus. It’s often said by those non-believers, though, that Leviticus is a worn-out book of the Old Testament, that it lists sins that aren’t sins anymore... And, I could spend my time arguing over that fact, but I’m going to turn to the New Testament book of Romans, chapter 1, verse 26-27…”

Dean’s mind focused on his brother, not even hearing what he was saying. He watched Sam’s body language as he spoke… and he knew that what he was talking about was important to him. He blocked out the sound as long as he could, but eventually it filtered back in.

“…1 Timothy, chapter 1, verse 10.  ‘The law is for people who are sexually immoral, or who practice homosexuality, or are slave traders, liars—”

Tears filled his eyes as he watched his baby brother tear apart everything that they had stood for. His heart actually ached… he didn’t want to see anymore. He couldn’t. Turning back to Crowley, on the verge of outright sobbing, asked to leave. “Please, just…”

The scene before him instantly disappeared, and Dean found himself back in his bedroom. Crowley was still there. “I—I can’t.”

“I had to show you that, squirrel. That’s what happens to Moose if you go through with ending it. He wasn’t exactly sane after he found you.”

Dean choked back more tears, the image of what he saw burned into his mind.

“I assure you, right now your brother is soundly asleep in his own bedroom. Now, we have somewhere else to go.”

“No! I can’t! Just…” his mind went fuzzy, trying to unsee, but he couldn’t. “Any more would… I can’t.”

Dean felt Crowley’s hand on his arm again. “Sorry, squirrel, I have to.”

 

The smell made his stomach churn, and he almost threw up. Putting his hand over his mouth, he looked up and realized he was in some kind of sewer. He turned his head and took in a figure about ten feet away from him. There was a large basket sitting next to whoever it was, and it was slowly being filled up with unrecognizable things. The figure was dirty, hair unkempt, clothes almost black from all the filth, except for one little tan edge. “Castiel?”

“Yes. That’s your trusted angel sidekick. Shame, really.”

Dean continued to watch him, figuring out that the things being placed in the basket were things that he might be able to eat. Everything was silent except for the shuffling noise Castiel was making, and he just stared. Now Dean could see clearly the angel’s profile, and for some reason, he looked peaceful, which shook Dean even more than if there had been pain and sorrow etched on his face. A sudden splash caused Castiel to turn, which in turn caused Dean to see the top half of the trench coat, which was drenched in dried blood. He cast his eyes on Crowley. “Why is he so bloody?”

“Wings.”

“Wings? I – I thought they were only a shadow or… something.”

“Well, not when they rip off their wings.”

Dean was confused. Why on earth would Castiel rip off his wings? Or let someone else rip them off? Sure, he was a renegade angel, but surely even that would be considered too harsh a punishment for anyone. “What happened?”

“Feathers here became very close to Sam after your death. And when Sam ran off to get a degree in the ministry, he really didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Crowley.” Anger started pooling in his stomach as he waited.

“He—well, when Moose practically ran away was when he tore them off. He thought being human may give him a better chance at seeing you again.”

White hot rage filled Dean. Surely something could have stopped this. First his brother, and now Cas. Had he hurt them that much? Shaking his head, the anger was still within as he whipped around to see Crowley. “What about you?! You obviously knew what was going on! You could have at least reached out… and here I thought you fucking cared! … even if only a little!”

“You’re the one who did this, not ME! Besides, I was too busy in hell trying to reign you in, since you still have that bloody mark on your arm! Do you even KNOW how difficult it was to contain you without turning you back into a demon?!”

Dean’s anger settled a bit. He shouldn’t have blamed all this on Crowley, demon or not. “So that’s what happened to you when I died?”

“Well...” Dean watched as Crowley handed him something. It was a picture. Back at that bar they went to after he had become a demon. They both had on those silly cowboy hats and were hamming it up for the camera. He stared at it for a few seconds before facing Crowley again. “You?”

“Yes. It bothered me. Enough to bloody keep you from turning back into just one of the demons!”

Watching Crowley like this was unnerving. His head was cast down to the ground and without the suffocating arrogance he usually carried with him, it just felt wrong.

“So, have you decided what you’re going to do now?” He saw Crowley lift his head. “Are you going to let gigantor be something you despise? And feathers. Are you going to leave him, so he eventually tears off his wings? Or are you going to keep going? With you and Moose grating on my very last nerve?”

Stone-faced and determined, Dean answered. “I know.”

 

Something was pounding from far away, but he just couldn’t get there.  Slowly, as if a fog was being lifted, the sound became louder, until the dream finally left him. Dean opened his eyes and found out that the noise was someone knocking on his door. He cleared his throat a bit before shouting out, “I’m coming!”

As he got to his feet, he began to remember. Crowley. Sam. Castiel. Suddenly he rushed towards the door and opened it, revealing a very worried-looking Sam.

“Dean! You’re Ok! I had this dream—”

Dean grabbed Sam by the shirt and planted his lips firmly against his, cutting off what he was about to say. As his brother’s lips started to respond, Dean could feel Sam’s body relaxing as he himself slowly deepened the kiss.

They explored each other’s mouths, slowly moving together as they had done many times before. The need became too much, and soon Dean found his head being pulled in closer as they both fought for dominance, trying to express exactly how they were feeling before it became too much. 

“Sam…” Dean’s body arched into his brother’s, begging for more contact, needing his brother to just take everything. “Please, Sam.” He whispered before they joined again into a heated kiss. Dean was being pushed slowly towards his bed, a moan escaping from his throat as he felt Sam’s hardness brush against his. He leaned in even more, and there was an answering moan that sent Dean even closer to the edge.

The kiss was suddenly broken. “Please what, Dean?”

All Dean could do was lean into his brother more, which brought about a guttural moan from Sam. “Please” Dean pleaded, as he started pulling at the back of Sam’s shirt, trying futilely to get it off. “Need…”

Their kiss was broken again, and he watched as his brother practically tore off his shirt, leaving his long hair a mess, just how Dean liked it. Soon, his own shirt was being pulled off him, and he raised his hands as Sam eagerly undressed him, then threw his shirt across the room. He reached down towards Sam’s hardness, being pleasantly surprised to find he was only in his boxers.  Dean grasped Sam’s cock and slowly moved his hand up and down.  “Can I?”

“God, yes.”

Dead slid his brother’s boxers off and made his way from his chest down to his now exposed cock.  He licked at the tip, tasting him, teasing, and then started to lave his tongue over the length. He could hear the moans and begging from above as he took his time with his prize, and finally swallowed as much as he could, sucking and licking up, down. Sam tasted so good… he always did, and Dean would’ve been quite happy to drive Sam crazy until he spilled down his throat.  But not this time. He started pulling away, letting Sam’s cock out into the air, give it one last kiss before moving back up his brother’s body, whispering in his ear, “I need you to come inside me.”

This drew a litany of curses, and Dean chuckled briefly as Sam started to rid him of his pants, but as soon as a hand was pressed against him, it was his time to curse. “Oh god, Sam…” Dean moaned as he felt his brothers hot, moist mouth suckling at him through his boxers. He didn’t even remember his jeans coming off, but at this point he couldn’t think as Sam continued his ministrations, finally letting up to take Dean’s boxers off. Before he knew it, the back of his knees hit his bed and he was being tossed back onto it. The sign of his brother’s strength bringing out another moan.

“Stay on your back,” Sam's breath ghosted around his ear. “I want to taste you.”

“Yes...” Dean felt Sam explore his body, his cock standing at attention, and apparently being ignored. “Sam.”

“Shh.”

He felt hot breath moving lower, settling around his hole. Just the thought made him even more aroused than he was, which he really didn’t think was possible. He felt the first lick, bringing him to the point of pure sensation, each moan coming from some primal place inside him.

“You taste so good”, he heard Sam whisper before licking over his hole again and again, until suddenly he felt his tongue trying to push in… to lick him from the inside. It kept going, licking around until he couldn’t take it anymore. But apparently Sam wasn’t done yet, and each lick brought stars into Dean’s head as he kept reaching sensory overload. “Inside”, Dean whispered, and he felt Sam give a few more licks before moving to catch his mouth in a filthy kiss, having him taste himself.

They continued kissing as Dean felt a finger inside him, using only Sam’s spit as lubrication. He ground down on the finger, trying to get it further inside. Then it hit that spot, making him arch his hips up, which were automatically pinned down by Sam’s other hand. One lead to two and then to three fingers, and Dean was going insane. All he could do was moan as they worked up inside him until they withdrew from his body. It wasn’t long before he felt Sam’s cock lining up, and then being pushed in. “Fuck!” Dean again ground down, wanting to feel every inch. Soon, a rhythm was found and both just lost themselves in it, in and out, trying to reach that point.

Soon Dean felt Sam’s hand around his cock, moving in a brutally fast pace.  If he kept it up, it would be seconds before he lost it. Just as he finished thinking that, there was white hot pleasure spiking inside him, spreading throughout his body and exploding around his eyes as he felt his hot come on his stomach.

Sam was still fucking him, and at his brother’s request, he opened his eyes and saw his brother dipping a finger into his come and licking it off, making another shot of arousal go through him. Sam’s trusts became stronger and deeper, and Dean knew he was close. “Come inside me, Sam,” he rasped out, and felt the trusts speed up and the last, final push going deeper as Dean felt the warm come fill his insides. 

Slowly, Sam pulled out as Dean brought his brother’s head down into a deep kiss, turning softer as their hearts slowed down and their breathing evened out. They just kept kissing, languidly stroking over each other’s bodies, not wanting to let each other go. Finally, they broke apart and stared into each other’s eyes.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Promise me something.” 

Dean starred quizzically at his brother, “what?”

“I felt… I thought something bad was going to happen tonight. That you…”  he watched as Sam closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Please don’t leave me.”

Dean felt a strong rush of emotion, thinking back on what almost happened. “Never, Sam. Never.”

“Good. Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”


End file.
